


why won't you love me?

by heismysoulmate



Series: wait for it [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, I Tried, M/M, Napollya - Freeform, One Shot, angst with a bit of fluff, happy ending? i don't know him, inspired by the hamilton, inspired by the song, my first try with this ship, they're both idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 18:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18596968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heismysoulmate/pseuds/heismysoulmate
Summary: Theodosia writes me a letter every dayI'm keeping the bed warm while her husband is awayHe's on the British side in GeorgiaHe's trying to keep the colonies in lineBut he can keep all of GeorgiaTheodosia, she's mine





	why won't you love me?

He met him on one of the parties, during his vacation. It was a banquet for opening some exhibition in the modern art gallery. Napoleon was swimming through the masses with glass of champagne in his hand, flirting and admiring the art (and maybe taking one or two things that weren't his).

  
He just finished the third glass, and checked the time. If he gets out now he could still have a chance of catching this pretty receptionist before her shift ends. He turned in the direction of the door, and that's when he saw the man.

  
He was perfect. Dressed in dark gray suit, with gray shirt and tie, he had everything that Solo liked in men. Tall, broad shoulders, the barely noticeable beard, clearly not interested in the woman that was trying to talk to him right now, and... oh. As if feeling Solo's gaze on him, the man looked in his direction, and his eyes had the nicest shade of blue Napoleon ever saw.

  
That's why he quickly grabbed two glasses of champagne, and approached the man.

  
"Napoleon Solo," he introduced himself, offering him one of the glasses.

  
Man raised a brow, but accepted it and took a sip.

  
"Illya Kuryakin."

  
Judging by name and accent he was definitely a Russian.

  
"So, what made you decide to spend this lovely evening here, instead of some nicer place?"

  
"You don't think it's nice here?"

  
"Not exactly." _But your voice definitely is._ "Just between you and me, all those people are so fake. They don't know shit about any of the works presented here. And also, in my opinion, not all of these things should be called art."

  
"Oh?" Illya was looking at him with curiosity, which only made Napoleon more eager to speak. And he did speak about displayed works, praising ones and insulting others. The taller man was nodding, and taking his gaze off him only to look at whatever piece he was currently talking about.

  
"And what do you think?" He asked blonde finally, while they were standing next to... Solo suspected it was supposed to be a vase.

  
"I don't know, I'm not really interested in modern art, to be honest with you." Kuryakin shrugged, and a small smile appeared on his lips.

  
"And yet you're here," Napoleon smirked.

  
"Yes, my wife founded a big part of this exhibition, so she got invited. But she couldn't come, so I thought it would be appropriate at least for me to show up."

  
_Oh, are you kidding me?_

  
Napoleon was trying his best to keep his smile on, upon realizing not he only was flirting a whole evening with a probably straight man, but also insulting something his wife spend a lot of money on. This has to be some stupid joke.

  
"She's feeling unwell?" He asked, trying to be nice.

  
"No, she got a sudden call from work, and she's not in the country right now."

  
"And she left you here alone? You must be so bored."

  
Illya shrugged.

  
"Maybe a little, especially that I don't know the town, so I mostly just stay inside."

  
"What a shame you don't know anyone with a wide knowledge of all places in the city worth seeing," Napoleon said playfully.

  
Kuryakin seemed to pick on the playful, sarcastic note in his voice, because he smirked.

  
"Real tragedy. Maybe you've heard of a person like that?"

  
"I may know someone willing to be your companion tomorrow."

  
"Then you should tell this person to meet me at 1pm, in front of the museum."

  
After saying that man put down his empty glass, and turned in the direction of the exit.

  
"I'll be sure to deliver the message," Napoleon answered, still feeling like a winner, even if he had no chance of catching that receptionist.

 

 

The next day Napoleon found himself arriving just on time. He spotted Illya standing on the stairs, and looking and his phone. Today he was wearing jeans with plain t-shirt, but it still looked extremely good on him. Napoleon wanted to kiss him so badly.

  
He normally didn't have any problem seducing taken men or women. It was a one time thing for both of them, so what was wrong with a little fun? It's not like he was destroying relationship and marriages, most of the affairs stayed secret forever. Besides, if Napoleon Solo wanted something he was taking it, that was the type of life he was living.

  
But this time it felt different, and he wasn't sure how to act.

  
"Hey there, cowboy!" Kuryakin greeted him with a smirk.

  
Napoleon only raised his brow at the nickname.

  
"So, where are you taking me?"

  
"I'm gonna show you the true beauty of this town, my friend. You think you're ready?"

  
"I think I can handle it."

  
They spend a whole day visiting places and sight-seeing, and it was nice. The atmosphere was light and Napoleon didn't feel this relaxed with another person in a long time. That's why during the lunchtime he took Illya to his personally favorite place, which he didn't show to anyone.

  
This continued. They were touring or just walking around while bantering or just talking, and it was harder and harder for Napoleon to keep it together. He kinda liked spending time with a Russian, and didn't want it all to stop. But on the other hand he still wanted to see him naked in his bed. Keeping hands to himself slowly was becoming a torture, especially when he was almost sure that sometimes Illya was flirting back.

  
That is until one night, when they were drunk.

  
The two of them were sitting in Napoleon's hotel room and playing chess, talking about politics of all things. They had completely different look at these things, which caused Solo to bring whiskey. He just needed a drink. But what kind of host would he be if he didn't offer his guest one too?

  
Even when the subject changed and then changed again, they kept drinking. Second, third, fourth drink...

  
It was getting hot in the room. Napoleon loosen his tie, and looked at the man in front of him. Illya licked his lips looking at the chess board between them, and it caused some error in Napoleon's brain. It was getting too hot.

  
He noticed that man's glass was empty so, to stop his brain from going the path he didn't want it to go (he could already feel pressure building in his stomach), he stood up to fill it. He reached for a glass when a hand on his wrist stopped him.

  
Napoleon looked at Kuryakin, surprised and unsure. The man licked his lips again, and American was sure he was doing this on purpose to drive him crazy.

  
"What is it, Peril?" He asked finally, when man didn't speak, but also didn't let go of his hand.

  
"I..." His eyes were wide open and so, so bright. Solo felt like he could drown in them. Maybe that's why he didn't notice when man pulled his wrist, and suddenly they were at the same face level.

  
He wasn't sure who initiated the kiss.

  
All he knew was that they were kissing, and it was so good that he felt weak in his knees.

  
When Illya stared taking off his shirt, he knew he should stop him. He was drunk and was probably gonna regret it. But Napoleon was also drunk, and he didn't have enough self-discipline to say 'no' to beautiful, half-naked man who was kissing him as if the world was going to end.

  
And maybe it was. Maybe their world, in which they lived until now, was going to end the next morning, in the hangover, realizations and regrets. But for now it wasn't important. For now the only things that counted were their lips brushing endlessly, and their hands roaming over naked bodies. Their fast breaths, little moans escaping their lips, and rustling of the bedding on Napoleon's bed.

  
When Solo woke up next morning in the empty bed he wasn't even surprised. But he was still disappointed.

  
"What were you thinking, stupid? He wasn't going to stay. It's better this way. Beside you've spent with him way too much time already, you're starting to get attached and..." His inner monologue was stopped by the view of Kuryakin in his kitchen, casually drinking coffee.

  
"Peril?" He asked, surprised.

  
His voice caused man to jump a little, which Napoleon found amusing.

  
"Oh, you're awake." His cheeks were slightly pink, and Solo tried his best not to think how last night there were full red, when he was moaning his name in hoarse voice. "I didn't want to wake you, so I made coffee by myself. Hope you're not mad for touching your things."

  
"I let you touch my most precious thing yesterday, so I don't think I mind," Napoleon answered casually, and poured himself a cup of still warm coffee.

  
The man sputtered at that, and he was trying to get himself together and stop coughing, while Napoleon watched him, unamused. Or so he tried to look, but if someone took a closer look they would see amusement, with a hint of fondness in his eyes.

  
"Yeah, about that..."

  
Ah, so they were gonna to have this awkward conversation now. Napoleon suddenly lost all willingness to drink, and he put the cup down.

  
"I..." He wasn't looking him in the eyes, and Napoleon didn't know why, but it hurt him.

  
"We both were pretty drunk yesterday," Solo offered.

  
"Yes, we were. But we're adults, and we can deal with consequences, right? I mean... we're not gonna dwell on this. It was..."

  
"It was one time thing," he confirmed, and this words never tasted so bitter before.

  
"And it doesn't change anything."

  
"It... doesn't?" American was confused. How sleeping with someone could not change anything? And what did it even mean? If nothing was changed are they gonna see each other again?

  
And why was Kuryakin looking at him with those scared puppy eyes?

  
"Of course it doesn't. Don't think you're gonna get out of this re-match for yesterday so easy. I'm gonna crush you next time."

 

*******

 

So their life continued. And during next few weeks he learned a few things about Illya.

  
1\. He liked cats. ( _One day they were going down the street. It was late evening, not many people around, especially here, in narrow alleys. That's when they heard silent "meow". They both turned at the same time and saw little, black kitten, sitting in the middle of the road._

  
_"Hey, there. Are you lost?" Illya asked, slowly approaching the animal. Cat was eyeing him suspiciously, but when he reached out it came closer, and started licking his hand._

  
_"It's not afraid of people, must live somewhere nearby."_

  
_"It's gonna find it's way perfectly," Napoleon answered, trying not to look at the cute scene in front of him._

  
_Kuryakin sighed, but agreed. But when he stood up, and tried to leave cat started meowing again and following them._

  
_"Oh look, I guess it needs our help." He said with a smug expression._

  
_And so they spend two hours of playing detectives, and looking for an owner of a cat. Somehow their mission was successful, and young boy seemed to be very grateful. And even though they were tired, they felt it was worth it._ )

  
2\. He could fall asleep EVERYWHERE. ( _Whenever he was tired, and wasn't moving for the longer period, he was just drifting off, which resulted in Illya falling asleep: in the cafe, on the porch in the park, in the cinema, and probably all possible locations in Solo's apartment._

  
_When it happened Napoleon always let him nap a little, and then he was gently waking him up. Beside the times when it occured in his house. Then he was just putting blanket on the sleeping figure, and letting him sleep._

  
_Illya was always apologizing him afterwards, explaining that it was an old habit from times when he had to sleep whenever he had time, because it was unsure when he will have the possibility to sleep again. But Napoleon was always telling him it's okay, he didn't really mind. And not only because when he was asleep Kuryakin's face was becoming soft, and he looked just cute._ )

  
3\. He was a terrible cook. ( _Okay, maybe he wasn't that bad. His cooking skills were decent, but still it was Napoleon who usually cooked for them, when they were staying indoors for the day. They could always order something, but Solo was really fussy about what he was putting in his mouth, and he really liked to cook._

  
_He especially liked those few occasions when he decided to do something from the russian cuisine. Illya never commented on those meals more than his usual compliments for the chef, but his eyes looked totally different then, and he took extra time to chew every bite. He wasn't saying anything, but Napoleon knew it was special to him, and he felt grateful._ )

  
4\. He was incredible in bed. ( _It was supposed to be one time thing. They told themselves they're not gonna do this again. But it was all lies._

  
_Second time they weren't drunk. And it was Napoleon who kissed the other man, in the dim light of his apartment. He wasn't thinking, he went on a wimp, but Illya didn't push him. He pulled him closer._

  
_They didn't think what they were doing. When their lips touched they forgot about the consequences._

  
_So they did it again, and again. But never talked about it. And they let themselves be intimate only protected by the walls of Napoleon's apartment._

  
_They both wordlessly agreed to this. And they were content with that arrangement. Even if one night Napoleon woke up to the sound of Illya crying in the kitchen, and he had to go and embrace the taller man, and stroke his hair, when he was whispering in small voice "But I love my wife, I love her". Napoleon ignored what it was doing with his heart, Kuryakin was more important at that moment. So he just let him cry it out, whispering softly "I know, I know."_ )

  
They were spending a lot of time together, and it was easy to learn all those things about Peril. Somewhere along the way Napoleon started sharing information about him, that he never told anyone. It seemed only fair.

  
They became more open with each other, and if Illya was honest with him, then he was honest too. Napoleon even learned that Illya's wife - Gaby, is actually a British spy, and he himself used to be one too, but he retired and took up watchmaking.

  
And so their days were passing blissfully. They were playing chess, going on walks, eating together, talking, sometimes watching some stupid TV shows, sometimes spending night together. And they were both happy.

 

*******

  
  
Napoleon was sitting in the open window, half burned cigarette between his fingers.

  
He wasn't usually smoking. Besides this was against hotel rules. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

  
He took one long drag. Nicotine didn't bring him consolation, but repeated sequence of moves, and awareness that he was in control, he was the one putting smoke in his lungs, stopped his hands from shaking.

  
He was the one in control of his life. He was making decisions that were best for him, and following them. He wasn't listening to anybody, and that's why he didn't need anybody else. That's how it always was, and how it always be.

  
Illya came by few hours earlier, and said that his wife was coming back.

  
They usually avoided talking about Gaby, besides Russian's breakdown when he was repeating how much he loved her. And Napoleon was telling himself that it was okay. Because they both knew that when she's back this is going to end. He wasn't expecting Kuryakin to leave his wife for him. He knew it was stupid and impossible. Napoleon was never counting on this. He knew he couldn't have him no matter how much he wanted to.

  
So this should be fine. If he knew it was going to end one day, and if he was okay with it... it should be fine. So why does it make him feel this empty?

  
Why he was already missing the touch and the voice of the other man? Why his stupid heart was beating as if it wanted to get out from his chest?

  
He didn't have feelings for him. He didn't have feelings for anyone. It was just sex, and something to fill the time while he was here. He didn't want to fall in...

  
No, that was stupid. Napoleon Solo wasn't that kind of man.

  
American crushed his burned cigarette on the windowsill. He had some packing up to do. He needed to move on. Literally and figuratively.

  
Peril said that Gaby was coming back the day after tomorrow. Which meant that they still had one day to spend together, and say their goodbyes.

  
He wasn't going to stay for that.

  
The next day when Illya will come to pick him up, the receptionist will tell him that Mr. Solo already took his things and left.

  
After all there was nothing holding him in this town anymore.

  
And Napoleon will already be speeding through streets of another town. Windows down, and another cigarette in his hand.

 


End file.
